


A bit for me

by Traykor



Category: A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traykor/pseuds/Traykor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becky's world revolves around Sara now. What will she find is just for her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A bit for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DaisyNinjaGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyNinjaGirl/gifts).



> Yuletide prompt asked for Becky being special to someone.  
> I always loved the clothes in this book!

My Sara is as much a friend as she is a mistress, she is. I am dear to her as any. Can’t but think though that near everyone is dear to her. Sara will take to any as is kind to her.  
Begging your pardon.  
I know folks would say I ought’n talk so familiar of so grand a lady as my Sara. And grand she be now, all near to grown up. 18 this year, pretty in her way, and still as gentle and kind a soul as ever lived. Always surrounded by folks hanging about her every word.  
I’ve grown to, in me own time. A full stomach’ll do for it, and me past twenty now. Always by my Sara’s side.  
I try, I do, to be a proper lady’s maid, for all I slip my speech and still can’t do the mending fine as it ought be done.  
Sara scolds me when I get harsh on my own self.  
“You are everything I could ask for in a companion” She’ll say, and “I need you, who were my fellow prisoner, to remind me of things I ought to remember.”  
Kind as any angel my Sara.  
I remember too well those harsh, hungry years. I don’t tell Sara they were better then the harsher, hungrier years that went before, and home with too many mouths and too little to fill ‘em, and no need of an extra girl. “Better make your own way” me mum had said, “some folk’ll take you for scullery.”  
Sara for certain believes me an orphan like her. She’s not asked, and I’ve not told. I give a bit of my wages to me mum now and then, now as I’ve more than ever dreamed of.  
I’ve a good place here, with my Sara, and could scarce ask for more then I’ve been given, the lowly likes of me lucky to be maid to so grand a lady.  
I’ve want for nothing, or at least I’ve told myself so.  
And someone has to keep watch on our Sara. Too kind and trusting, she is. Not that I’d change her! Not for all the world. But Mr. Carmichael and Mr. Carrisford have both had words with me about her.  
“You keep watch” they said “there will be men—handsome men—soon enough. They’ll want Sara’s money, and will put on kind faces and nice manners to see if they can catch her for themselves.”  
So watch I do, any man as comes calling, and listen too. The things you can learn of a man when one has a word with cook or maid. They’ll talk to another of their like, easy enough. There’s been a few already I’ve refused when they come calling, on account of what their own folk says. Sara laughs, and says she’s not so simple-minded as to fall for a few pretty words and manners, nor take proposals that come too quick.  
We worry still, we do, them that loves her best.  
Perhaps it were that my thoughts were so fast upon my duty that it was some months acquaintance before I noticed Tom for more than the body taking money at my Sara’s favorite dress shop. Tom had an easy smile, which always appeared when we walked in. He was the clothier’s son, about my age, tall and fair haired. You ask me now I’ll say Tom is a handsome bloke, though I don’t recall as I thought so at first. Funny what changes in a mind.  
I get ahead of my own story, I do. I’m not like my Sara for the telling of tales.  
Sara loved to stop by and see the new cloth and designs what come on the boats each month. Such cloth our princess goes about in! Silk and fur, the finest wool and lace. They’d the best of everything at this shop—silk so fine you’d suppose it were made of clouds. While the princess held court over the whole shop, Tom would talk to me. He would ask after the house, and Mr. Carrisford, and our health. He’d ask how our clothes were keeping, and was the laundress treating them proper?  
Tom’ll have the shop some day, he tells me one visit. He’s learning all his father’s secrets for the making of fine clothes. How to choose the best cloth for the task, how to tell what the best cloth is and get a good price for it—the making of a fine cut, how cloth must fall just so.  
I listen patiently while Sara touches every bolt of cloth brought to her, commenting on color and feel, and what parties she’s to attend this season, and what travels we will take. She looks to me for nods or shakes of head, says I’ve and eye for colors.  
The places I have seen with my Sara, I never thought to see such—Paris and the like. Mr. Hastings, the clothier, is presenting drawings just come from Paris for our princess’s approval.  
Tom notices me watching Sara, and odd look on his face.  
“You’re a loyal one, eh? Not many are so devoted to their mistress.”  
“I’m returning what was given me” says I.  
“Not room for much else, then” he asks. I don’t know what he means and tell him so. He looks down and away. His ears are red, and I don’t know why. Just then my Sara is done and calls me away.  
I see Tom watching and blushing each time we come, though I’m the one he speaks to, I fear he has his eye on my Sara. I fear he’s one of them as Mr. Carrisford warned me of, looking to make his way up in the world with a rich marriage.  
I’ll allow I don’t notice he never asks after Sara, ‘cept as how she is to me.  
I come to the shop one day to collect a new coat Sara’s had made for the winter fast coming on London. Sara’s coat is a fine thing, fur and wool, embroidered along the edges and sleeves.  
There are two coats in the box. The second more practical than fancy, sturdy and thick, but the wool is fine and the cut smart and as well made as can be.  
It is too large for Sara.  
“What’s this then?” I ask Tom.  
“A coat” he says, “for you.”  
“There weren’t no order for me” I say, “and this too fine for me.”  
Tom were blushing again, and looking odd, though there weren’t no others about in the shop. Mr. Hastings stood in the back room, his back turned, though I could tell he were listening.  
“What’s this about then?” I ask him “If you’re thinking you’ll get on with Miss Crewe by given me…”  
“It ain’t for her, is it?” Tom interrupted hotly. “Is she all you can think on? Don’t you want for yourself?”  
“What are you on about then?” I’m so surprised I don’t remember me manners. Tom takes a deep breath, and goes quiet for a moment.  
“Becky…might I call you Becky? I know I’ve no right to, but I….I‘ve grown. I am. Fond. Of you. I.” Tom stutters and stops and it’s a bit before I can work out what he’s trying to say. I can scarce breathe , my chest tight.  
“You saying you sweet on me then?”  
“I am. If you’ll have me. I know you’ve a place and all, but. But, you’re a fine lady yourself. I’ll have the shop myself someday, and you’ve an eye for color, your mistress has said so. Please take the coat. I made it for you.”  
“Thank you” I say. I can’t think much else to say, my insides up in knots and warm all over.  
“May I call on you then? If your mistress will allow?”  
“I. yes. If you want to.”  
I wear the coat back home. Sara notices at once, and has the whole of it out of me before I’ve had it off. She laughs at my stumbling and stammering about it, and hugs me tight. “Oh Becky! It’s such a grand story! A romance over shop counters. You do like him, don’t you? I think he’ll suit you, I do.” She draws me to the parlor and sets us down, hands clasped. “Promise me you won’t forget me when you have gone off and married him?”  
“A bit quick that!” I say. “No one’s talking of marriage.”  
“Oh?” Sara replies, “I think he’s rather thinking that way.” She looks somber all suddenly.  
“Becky, my dear, you know I love you. So you must promise me you won’t say no to him for my sake, because you think you ought to stay here and look after me. If you like him, you should have him.”  
There’s not to say to that, but I hug her tight. “I’ll always be near if you need me. If I do go and marry him, you promise me you won’t go marrying without me seeing the bloke first?”  
“Oh I wouldn’t dare.” She says, and then bursts out laughing. I can’t help but join her.  
We spend the rest of the day in fits of gossip and giggles. Mayhaps I’ll marry, and mayhaps I won’t but it is a fine thing, this feeling.  
Tom comes calling that evening, with flowers, and I find I like it, this thing between us.  
Tom smiles his big smile just for me now. Gossip gets round he’s been by the jewelers. I know what’s coming, and am happy for it, this bit I have that’s just for me.


End file.
